


Nine Lives

by amberfox17



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Cat Ears, Catboys & Catgirls, Crack, Established Relationship, Fluff, Lokitty, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Thorgi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-10-28
Packaged: 2017-12-27 20:36:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/983327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberfox17/pseuds/amberfox17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nine different tales featuring either catboy Loki, Lokitty, Thorgi or dogboy Thor. Each chapter is a stand-alone short fic and will be either fluff, smut or an unholy mixture of the two. First up: SHIELD capture Loki, who has somehow been turned into a cat. Thor attempts cuddles. It goes as well as you'd expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thor and Lokitty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SHIELD capture Loki, who has somehow been turned into a cat. Thor attempts cuddles. It goes as well as you'd expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I have no excuse for this. I just love catboys and kitty fic =^.^= This chapter inspired by [mandylaser's fanart](http://mandylasers.tumblr.com/post/27943717110/notsonicebunny-asked-for-thor-with-a-loki-kitty) and [lokizillas tags](http://amberfox17.tumblr.com/post/62251868549).

The black ball of fur in Thor’s arms is making an unholy sound that Bruce cannot help categorising as part growl, part snarl and mostly frustrated fury. You don’t have to know the first thing about the proper care of a cat to recognise it as a very, very unhappy noise, and one that promises imminent pain for all in the vicinity, yet Thor seems utterly oblivious to his impending disembowelment and continues to wrestle with what currently looks and sounds like some kind of serpentine hell-beast erupting from his beneath his hands.

Bruce is the only one still watching Thor attempt to shower his currently feline brother with love and affection, which is going about the same as his usual attempts to communicate with Loki. When the spitting Loki had been brought in, rolled up and immobilised in his own green cape, and unceremoniously dumped in the holding cell, almost the entirety of the Helicarrier crew had arrived, and they and the team had watched with glee as Loki rocketed around the hastily prepared room in a fit of destructive malice, attacking the bedding, the scratching post, the toys and his brother in equal measure. Tony had been taking bets on how much cognitive reasoning the newly-minted ‘Lokitty’ had retained, and great fun was being had by all.

But four or five hours later, the novelty had worn off, and since it had proved damn near impossible to tell if Loki’s unfailing aggression was due to his own neurosis or whether it was simply the natural response of a stressed cat to being repeatedly held and cuddled, no matter how fiercely it clawed and bit, the bets had been cancelled and everyone had gone back about their business. Bruce had come down once the crowd had thinned out, partly from scientific curiosity, and partly because of the small, mean voice in his head that really wanted to see the manipulative bastard deal reduced to belly-rubs and an open litterbox.

But what he had actually seen was that Thor was paying no attention to Loki’s body language, and despite being covered in scratches and some nasty-looking bites, was still insisting on rubbing his face against Loki’s fur and murmuring what were probably endearments to the angry cat in his arms. It’s rather sad, and since he’s leaning towards the ‘feline brain structure cannot process Asgardian consciousness’ theory, almost cruel, to see how desperate Loki-cat is to get out of Thor’s embrace; Bruce might hate Loki most days, but he can’t just watch what seems to be an animal suffering from well-intentioned but misguided treatment.

“Thor,” Bruce says, knocking gently on the glass. “Thor, I know you mean well, but – but I think he wants to be put down now.”

Thor looks up, and despite the claw hooked into his bottom lip, manages to look both dignified and sad. “This is the first chance I have had to hold my brother close since he fell,” Thor says. “And though he fights me, I would show him how dearly I still hold him in my heart.”

“I get that,” Bruce says, and he really does; it’s painfully obvious how much Loki means to Thor and how much each fresh betrayal hurts him. “But the thing is, I think he’s more cat than Loki right now, and you’re really upsetting him. Just give him a break, will you? Just for a bit?”

Thor sighs forlornly and his grip slackens; Loki-cat explodes out of it like a furry rocket, choosing to climb Thor’s face in order to leap from his head to the ground. Bruce winces in sympathy, but Thor seems indifferent to his lacerated face and instead drops to the ground, sitting cross-legged with his shoulders hunched and, well, it’s Thor; he can’t really do small and pathetic, but he’s having a good try. Even Bruce wants to pat him on the shoulder and tell him it’ll be okay.

Loki-cat on the other hand, is stalking stiff-legged to the other side of the room, where he sits with his nose in the air and his back to Thor. He pointedly ignores Thor’s half-hearted attempts to attract his attention with a fluffy mouse, and instead begins to groom himself thoroughly,and Bruce hopes for his sake he really isn’t fully _compos mentis_ right now, because otherwise he’s not sure what to make of the blatant leg raising and groin licking. This goes on for a while, Loki apparently intent on removing all possible traces of Thor’s scent from his fur, while Thor grows more and more despondent, slumped in the corner, still and quiet.

It’s only once Thor shifts his attention from Loki to stare sorrowfully at the ceiling that Loki pauses in his licking and glances over his shoulder. When Thor fails to meet his eyes he uncoils from his eye-watering position and pads over. Bruce holds his breath, but Thor seems oblivious, and Loki-cat inches closer, pausing to sniff at Thor’s knee, bright green eyes fixed on his face. Thor continues to ignore him and Loki puts one paw on his leg.

Thor looks down and Loki’s ears flatten, but Thor remains still and silent and after a long moment, shifts his gaze from Loki to stare absently into space. Loki watches him for a minute more, then, apparently satisfied, climbs into his lap and sprawls out across it, claws clearly visible as he anchors himself to Thor’s leg. Thor winces but says nothing.

Once Loki is comfortable, he raises his head and makes a demanding, whinging noise, which mutates into a rolling purr as Thor hesitantly scratches under his chin. Loki-cat is so small that his head is almost engulfed by Thor’s palm as his delighted brother scratches him behind the ear and pets the brow of his head; he lifts his arse high into the air and Thor obliges by scratching at the base of his tail as Loki rolls and purrs. Thor’s almost in tears as he wraps one palm over Loki-cat’s chest and works the base of his tail with the other, and Loki is certainly enjoying being petted, purring and headbutting and actually drooling a little under Thor’s hands. It’s very sweet, so long as Bruce ignores the fact that it’s actually Loki and not a cat.

Bruce isn’t sure if he’s happy or not with how shamelessly Loki is now begging for Thor’s attention, alternating chewing on his fingers and pushing himself into Thor’s chest, but either way, he’s definitely had enough of dysfunctional family dynamics Asgardian-style, and he shoves his hands in his pockets and turns to leave. Suddenly, the air pressure in the room shifts in a peculiar way and he feels his ears pop at the exact same moment he tastes raspberries on his tongue. Magic, he thinks, dismayed, and twists around to look back at the cell –

\- where Thor abruptly has a lap full of naked Loki and seems to be utterly thrilled. Loki seems dazed and a little confused, but he’s making no effort to remove himself from his compromising position. Bruce needs to alert the team, alert Fury but – but Thor is still rubbing his palm in lazy circles over Loki’s chest and Loki is still arching into it and then he pushes his face against Thor’s and nuzzles affectionately and Bruce is leaving, he is leaving _right now_.

“Hey, how’s our resident cat fancier holding up?” Tony asks Bruce rushes back into the lab, concentrating on regulating his breathing. Rather than answer, he taps Tony’s monitor and drags up the live feed of the holding cell, careful to avoid actually looking at the window.

There’s a prolonged silence.

“Actually, this explains a lot,” Tony says at last and Bruce can only nod.


	2. Loki and Thorgi, Dog of Thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony Stark shows up at Loki's door with a rather fat corgi and an explanation involving the words 'Thorgi' and 'Dog of Thunder'. Fluffy crack fic.

Unsurprisingly, it’s a Thursday when Stark shows up at the door of one of Loki’s many Midgardian hideouts; it’s never been a good day for Loki. What _is_ a surprise is that Stark is alone, unarmoured, and struggling to carry a rather plump golden corgi in his arms, and that he is too busy trying to stop it licking him to actually greet Loki when he opens the door.

“What is _that_?” Loki asks with a sneer, letting his own armour fade away into his street clothes. He’s now rather regretting his decision to let himself be found so easily by SHIELD’s laughably obvious surveillance tracking. He’d been hoping for another confrontation with Thor, who has been noticeably absent of late, not Stark and his tiresome quips.

Stark wrestles the corgi to the floor, where it takes one look at Loki and starts barking happily. Stark tries shushing the annoying creature, but it pays him no attention, being completely fixated on Loki. It’s running around him in overly-excited circles, jumping and yipping, and then it has the affront to actually start pawing at Loki’s legs until he nudges it firmly away with his shoe.

“That,” Stark says, waving at the dog who has now decided to chew on Loki’s elegant Italian shoes, “is your big brother. And we need you to fix him.”

“What?” Loki says as he tugs his wet foot out of the corgi’s mouth.

“That’s Thor,” Stark says, “Or Thorgi, as we’ve been calling him for the past week. Doom hit him with some kind of spell, lots of chanting and shiny light and boom, instant Dog of Thunder. We fought, we won, we thought we had him but it turned out to be another Doombot, and now we’re stuck with…this.”

The both look down at the corgi, who is still pestering Loki for attention, and who yips happily when Loki places one hand on his head. It is the work of a moment for Loki to read his astral energies and yes, Stark is right. This dog is indeed Thor.

Hmm. Loki had not thought Doom capable of this kind of working; Thor is an Asgardian, second only to Odin in raw power, and protected both by his blood and his unique relationship with Mjolnir. That he could be reduced to this is unsettling, to say the least, and something Loki will have to examine closely, lest he be the next target.

“Where is Mjolnir?” he asks, reaching out with his seidr to better understand what has happened to Thor, absently rubbing his fingers over the dog’s head as he does so.

“Safe and sound in the tower,” Stark says. “He dragged it all the way home. He kept bringing it to Steve and then dropping it. I think he wanted to play fetch.”

Loki hums to himself and lifts his hand to flick a small spell at the dog at his feet. It bounces off harmlessly, invisible to the mortal and apparently to the dog too, for he is now rolling happily on the floor, tongue lolling out and paws flailing.

“I cannot imagine your team agreeing to this,” Loki says and Stark shrugs.

“So I’m still working on the whole teamwork thing. Look, Bruce and I have tried everything known to science and then some, and nothing’s worked. I’ve called in Reed and T’Challa and even Peter, poor kid, and we can’t figure it out. Strange won’t return my calls, the mutants have gone underground _again_ and I don’t have Glenda the Good Witch on speed-dial, so here we are. You know Thor better than anyone and you’re Level 50 Mage or whatever -”

“You’re desperate,” Loki clarifies and Stark deflates a little.

“Yeah, pretty much. Look, can you turn him back or not? Jane’s hell-bent on hooking up a hotline to Asgard but I’d rather first contact with the rest of your kind didn’t involve explaining why Thor is suddenly fixated on sniffing crotches.”

“That is hardly a new pastime for my idiot brother,” Loki says absently, prodding at the tightly-woven spellcraft that is holding Thor in this pathetic form. It’s cruder than his own, naturally, but efficient and powerful and quite unbreakable by mortal means. It’s infinitely superior to any magic Loki has seen so far on Midgard; perhaps he was too hasty in turning Doom’s invitation to Latveria down…

“Will you help?” Stark asks and there’s the note of desperation he’s been trying so hard to hide. Loki smothers a grin as he bends to pick up the surprisingly heavy Thor.

“Of course,” he says smoothly, though his calm demeanour is somewhat spoilt by the fat dog wriggling in his arms as he tries to lick his face. “Thank you, Stark, for bringing him to me. I will take care of everything.”

“Great,” Tony exhales, relief flashing across his face. “Do you need anything setting up at the tower? Thor’s suite has pretty much everything you could need, but I can -”

“Goodbye, Stark,” Loki says and then he is gone, vanishing away with the helpless Thor before the startled mortal can respond. At last, a flawless victory, he thinks smugly as Stark’s horrified face fades from view.

Three hours later and he’s not so sure about that.

“I said GET DOWN!” he screams, but Thor hasn’t listened the half dozen times he’s said it already and isn’t listening now. He has a death grip on Loki’s leg and is intent on humping it madly, that pink tongue still hanging out happily, and yet again Loki has to grab him by the scruff of his neck and wrench him off his leg to an accompaniment of frustrated whimpers.

After a great deal of testing and experimentation, Loki is certain that Thor is not fully conscious within the dog’s body. He is still Thor, for he clearly knows Loki and is still exhibiting his usual stubbornness and refusal to respect Loki’s personal space, but he cannot understand Loki’s speech, nor make any signs that Loki can understand in turn. He is, in essence, a dog, and as far as Loki can tell, his higher consciousness is slumbering, tucked away in a corner of the canine’s limited mind.

At least, that is what Loki is telling himself every time he has to pry the enthusiastic Thor from his leg.

“Bad dog!” he snaps and Thor whimpers sadly, ears drooping and tail curling between his legs. If Loki had ever given the idea any consideration, he would have imagined Thor as a large, heavy-jawed hunting dog, something like Tyr’s warhounds: wolfish and shaggy furred, all sleek muscle and lethal power. But the dog looking up at him with unnaturally blue eyes is dumpy, or perhaps more accurately, rather fat and waddles about on short little legs as he tries again and again to get Loki’s attention.

It’s rather…endearing, really, to be the sole recipient of Thor’s unbridled adoration; when he has stopped in his magic-weaving to run his hands over Thor and examine his pudgy form, Thor had been ecstatic, tail thumping against the floor, immediately flopping to the ground and turning on his back to beg for belly-rubs. Loki may or may not have given to those imploring eyes, even more effective than usual, and may or may not have scratched that rotund little belly with one hand with fondling his pricked up ears with the other.

But he will certainly not be doing so again, if he did at all, for Thor has suddenly shifted from pushing his head into Loki pushing other parts of his body against Loki and Loki is _not_ putting up with his increasingly aggressive mounting. “Very bad dog!” he says loudly, and stands over him, arms crossed, until Thor grovels at his feet. That part at least is pleasing, as is the whimpering, and a memory he will cherish long after this spell is broken.

 _If_ this spell is broken, since despite all his hard work, he is no closer to unravelling the spell than when he first took Thor in his arms. While he would quite enjoy having Thor on a leash for the next millennia, he needs to know how to undo this magic, in case Doom or someone like him thinks to try the same on him. It is not that the spell is too clever for him – hah! As if any _mortal_ ’s spell could be too much for him! – but that it is too simple: it is barely seidr at all, but more a tangled mess of Midgardian folklore, drawing on the ley lines and subconscious powers of this realm, rather than the universal forces which Loki wields. Like all such basic spells, the right words and a right action will break it, but without knowledge of the specifics Doom used in casting it, Loki has no way to determine which key words and what act will return Thor to his usual self.

Between analysing –and chastising – Thor and hiding all traces of his magic and new location from SHIELD, Stark, Doom and any other magic-sensitives on this miserable plane of existence, Loki is exhausted. He badly needs a nap and since he seems to be getting nowhere with de-canining his brother, he sees no harm in taking one.

Of course, the moment he gets on the bed, Thor is there, yapping happily. “Get _off_ , Thor,” he growls as deeply as he can, which momentarily makes Thor’s ears flatten, but of course the idiot mutt ignores him and chooses instead to flop down noisily next to Loki, wriggling and snuggling until he is tucked under Loki’s chin and pressed to his chest. Loki contemplates stabbing him – only a little; he’s not fond of cruelty to species that can’t appreciate his wit while being tormented – but really, it’s just too much effort and it’s not like Thor will remember any of this once he is turned back. Probably.

And if it’s pleasant to lie there and listen to Thor’s wheezy breath and contented sighs, and feel the warmth of his brother, however small and furry, pressing alongside him, then no-one will ever know, and if Loki unbends enough to wrap his arm around Thor and pull him even tighter to his chest then surely he can be forgiven one small moment of weakness. Thor licks him on the chin and wags his tail and Loki buries his face in his soft fur and maybe, just maybe, lets himself cry a little, as he has not since he fell from the Bifrost and decided that if he could not be his brother’s equal he would be his doom. He might even whisper some of this to the plump dog snuggling in his arms, for words unspoken are a heavy, heavy weight on even the darkest of souls, and Loki yearns, like all caged things, for freedom and for flight. He falls asleep at some point after that, listening to Thor and wondering how a dog so small can snore so loud.

Loki wakes the next morning to the unmistakable sensation of Thor humping his leg. “If you don’t stop that right now, I am taking you to the nearest veterinarian and having you spayed,” he hisses sharply.

Thor laughs and Loki freezes. “Not even you could be so cruel, brother,” the fully restored and completely naked Thor rumbles, hips still working against Loki’s thigh and well, really, after all the trouble he’s been put to, he thinks he deserves a little time off from super-villainy and emotional devastation, so he lies back and lets himself bask in Thor’s loyalty and adoration.

And if he ‘basks’ not once, not twice, but thrice in the space of as many hours, well – Thor’s always been like a dog with a bone once the mood is on him, and Loki’s not above the occasional howl, when well warranted.

 


	3. Thor and Catboy Loki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki's first attempt to turn into a cat goes fine. It's turning all the way back that proves difficult. Thor doesn't seem to mind, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we get to the porn! Rating has jumped to mature!

Loki stands before the mirror and snarls in frustration. The fact that up until an hour ago he had not been capable of making the noise that escapes from his mouth does not improve his mood, and nor does the fact that he cannot seem to repress the angry swishing of the tail he should not currently be sporting. He glares at his reflection and yanks angrily on his impossibly soft, furry ears, but the only result is an involuntary yowl at the pain.

And it had started out so well! He has been working on his shapeshifting for months, keen to progress from mere illusion to an actual change of form and mass, and to his delight he had managed to fold himself into a perfect cat shape on the first attempt. True, he had been slightly larger than he had intended, and had not been able to change his fur from the black of his hair, nor his eyes from their own green, but otherwise it had all gone exactly to plan. He had padded about in feline form for an hour or so, learning how to use a body so differently shaped and with senses skewed to smell and hearing, and had been well pleased with how natural a cat he made, even going so far as to groom himself with his new tongue, delighting in his new flexibility.

But then he had tried to change back. It had been hard, unexpectedly so, and he had lurched from blurred shape to blurred shape, now furred, now not, from four legs to two but still cat-like in face and body. It has taken him _hours_ , and while he is now more or less as he was before, he is exhausted, and he cannot seem to shift the last of his feline traits. The tail with a mind of its own is matched by perky black ears that sit on top of his head, and though the rest of him looks fine, he is finding the scents of his room overpowering, and the strange sounds he keeps making indicate that there is still a lingering felineness within as well as without.

It is not the first time one of his experimental spells has gone wrong, but it is proving to be far more difficult to undo than anything since his brief and ill-advised foray into, ah, certain physical enhancements when he was but a youth. The memory of Freyja sniggering at him – since he had certainly not gone to his mother with that particular problem! – is enough to put him off seeking her help now, and so he is likely stuck with his new appendages until he can fall asleep and his natural morphological field reasserts itself.

Loki has tried to will himself to sleep, but he is so anxious he cannot manage to drift off. He could request a sleeping draught, or try to make one himself, but either way it would require a trip to Eir’s Healing Hall on the other side of the palace and he is in no hurry to expose himself to the ridicule of the court. No, he will just have to wait it out, wait until he is too tired to stay awake, and hope that in the morning he will be fully restored and can begin researching why changing back to his Asgardian body is so much more troublesome than shedding it.

He sighs and his ears and tail droop. It is likely to be a long and frustrating night.

“Brother!”

Oh, no. Loki twists, ears flattening against his head and tail fluffing out without him even realising it, as his door bangs open. Why had he not locked it? Why had he not thought to put some clothes on after getting most of his normal body back? He is well accustomed to Thor bursting into his room and usually would not mind it, especially not when it involves them both being naked, but right now is _not_ a good time.

“Loki -” Thor trails off, mouth hanging open, as he stares at Loki, gaze raking him from head to foot and settling on the fluffed-out tail twitching behind Loki’s head. “ _What_ have you done to yourself?”

“A small setback,” Loki hisses, and that too is far more cat-like than he wants it to be. “I successfully managed to change my form earlier today, but I am having some trouble ridding myself of the attributes.”

He expects Thor to start laughing and not stop, but his brother merely steps closer and shifts his fascinated gaze to Loki’s cat ears.

“Are you in any discomfort? Shall I fetch mother? Or father?” Thor says, staring at the top of Loki’s head and therefore missing how his face contorts at the thought. Having Thor seeing him like this is one thing, but his mother’s amusement and father’s disdain at his failure to control his magic is not something he thinks he could bear. Not again.

“ _No_ ,” Loki replies quickly. “I am fine. It is only temporary, and I will deal with it myself.”

“You are certain?”

“I know my own body, Thor,” Loki tells him peevishly.

Thor makes a vague noise of agreement, but his mind is obviously elsewhere, and he reaches out for Loki’s face without warning. Loki jerks back reflexively, but Thor only slides his palms over Loki’s cheekbones and into his hair, searching for where his ears should be.

“You can see for yourself that my ears have not changed back,” Loki says irritably, as Thor’s fingers rub over the peculiar smoothness now at the sides of his head.

“I wish you had told me you were attempting a new trick,” Thor says, hands migrating upwards towards Loki’s new ears. “I would like to see you as a cat.”

Loki draws in a sharp breath so he can meet this idiotic statement with a scathing retort, but before he can manage it Thor’s questing fingers find the base of his cat ears and he begins to rub, just as he would with one of their mother’s spoilt cats, and all thought is driven clear out of Loki’s brain. It feels – it feels _divine_ and he is leaning into the touch purely on instinct, pushing his head into Thor’s hands, closing the space between them to encourage Thor to keep on with the delightful petting.

Thor obliges, his broad fingers expertly massaging Loki’s scalp and his velvety ears, and Loki basks in the attention, eyes falling shut as he loses himself in the sensation. It feels so _good_ and he finds he cannot hold on to his irritation and anxiety with such pleasurable feelings swamping his consciousness. He isn’t even aware he is purring until Thor laughs and the feel of Thor’s chest shaking triggers the realisation that his own is vibrating with the rhythmic rumble of a very happy cat.

“Stop that!” Loki snaps, or at least tries to; it comes out as more of a mewl, and his attempt to push Thor away is hampered by the fact he is actually hanging on to him to stay upright. Thor hums in agreement and dutifully stops the immensely distracting ear-scratching, but as he then shifts to rubbing his broad palms along Loki’s spine, from the back of his neck to where his tail curls just above his buttocks, it does not make much a difference to Loki’s persistent purr.

“I rather like you like this,” Thor tells him, humour lurking behind his gentle tone as Loki arches into his hands. “You are certainly easier to please than usual.”

“Ngh,” Loki tells him, which should have been a withering insult, but as one of Thor’s hands returns to petting his ears and the other massages gently at the base of his tail, his whole body crackles with pleasure, the delicious sensation flowing over his skin and flooding him with happiness. It is an entirely different kind of enjoyment to how he normally experiences Thor’s hands on him, far more intense, so overwhelming, in fact, that he can only liken it to the shuddering joy he feels when Thor strokes his cock.

Once the thought occurs to him, he cannot shake it. That is _exactly_ what it is like, his body over-sensitive and aching, and that is clearly a problem, some kind of strange side-effect of his botched transformation, his muddled body mutating the remnants of his feline tactile awareness into a more familiar sensuality. Unexpected, yes; unwarranted, definitely, but as he grinds into Thor’s warm body and inhales his familiar, comforting scent, he cannot say it is entirely unwanted.

“Thor,” he pants, well aware of the circling motions of his hips and the wet patch he has created on Thor’s tunic where he has been pushing into him, “Thor, I want – I want -”

“I can tell what you want,” Thor says, but his laughter is fond, not mocking. “So this feels good?”

“Yessss,” Loki slurs, giving into instinct and rubbing his mouth over Thor’s face, not so much kissing as marking him, bumping his head under Thor’s chin and purring loudly. Thor is greatly pleased by his uncharacteristic nuzzling and only too happy to keep stroking Loki, his hands constantly moving, tingling across Loki’s back and chest, along his shoulders and through his hair, and always, always coming back to tease at his newly sensitive ears and lashing tail.

Loki shamelessly grinds into Thor’s broad leg and writhes under his touch, entirely focused on the pleasure building within him, the friction of Thor’s leggings against his hard cock just one more point of delicious sensitivity on his over-stimulated body. “Ah,” he pants, “ah,” trying to tell Thor to keep going, but he cannot seem to form the words.

“Loki,” Thor says, and he’s more than a little breathless himself. He’s saying something else too, but Loki ignores it in favour of pushing his head into Thor’s hands, trying to get him to focus on one particular point on his left side –

“Loki!” Thor says, laughing and pushing him away and Loki miaows furiously before he can stop himself.

“What?” he spits once he feels a bit more in control of his voice. “What, Thor?”

“Will you get on the bed, so I can pet you properly?” Thor says, and from his tone it’s clear that he’s been saying this to Loki for some time and getting no response.

“Yes, yes,” Loki says, feeling rather put out at having to move, and he stalks over to the bed and flops down with an aggrieved air. Thor moves swiftly to lock the door and strip his own clothes off; normally, Loki would quite enjoy looking at his brother’s nakedness, especially when all that golden flesh and obvious arousal is solely for him, but at the moment, all he cares about is Thor getting back to the stroking as fast as possible and he miaows again, a demanding, insistent noise that springs from the back of his throat faster than the insults on the tip of his tongue.

Thor responds with gratifying speed, hastily clambering on to the bed and sitting against the headboard with his legs splayed.

“Here, kitty, kitty,” he says, grinning and patting his lap, enjoying himself far too much for Loki’s liking. But his wriggling fingers are oddly enticing and Loki can’t seem to stop himself crawling forward, fixated on the movement, and before he quite realises it, he’s halfway into Thor’s lap. The wriggling fingers reach out to tickle him under the chin and it’s far more pleasurable than such a simple thing has any right to be.

He’ll punish Thor for this later, Loki thinks, as he settles himself fully into Thor’s lap and inhales the heady scent of his arousal and curls into the warmth emanating from Thor’s firm body. The most important thing right now is getting Thor to do what _he_ wants, and as he rubs his face against Thor’s and nips his ear, Thor begins to stroke him again and Loki sighs happily.

It is perhaps the oddest form of sex they have ever had, for that is unmistakably what is happening as Loki grinds and pants and feels himself climbing steadily towards orgasm, his body alive with a wild rush of desire, and yet all he is actually doing is sitting in Thor’s lap as Thor strokes his skin, rubbing his palms over every inch of Loki he can reach, moving from his head down his spine, over his hipbones and up to fondle his heaving chest, his ribcage vibrating with his irrepressible purr.

True, Loki’s aching cock is sliding against Thor’s own erection, and the smell of Thor’s desire mixes with the tang of his sweat and the earthy, delicious scent that is purely Thor as his grunts fill Loki’s ears, but this is almost secondary to the melting bliss that sweeps over him as Thor fondles his ears and tail. It is so good he can barely think at all, a new experience indeed, and though Thor’s obvious desire is pleasing he cannot spare a thought for Thor’s needs, not when his own wants are so demanding.

He moans and rests his chin on the juncture of Thor’s neck and shoulder, rubbing his own scent against Thor’s pulse point, pulling back enough to lick over Thor’s clavicle, not to please Thor but to enjoy for himself the salty taste of Thor’s skin. Thor shudders and murmurs, but his words are of no interest, only his hands, and Loki presses closer to encourage him to keep going.

It is not until Thor leaves off from the petting to grip Loki tightly by his buttocks, so he can better pull Loki against him as their cocks slide alongside each other, that Loki realises he is close to coming; with the storm of sensation reduced to this one point he finds himself suddenly desperate for release, for a resolution to the intense pleasure tingling through every inch of him, and he digs his fingers into Thor’s bulky arms and gives into instinct, rutting against him mindlessly, heedless of his wildly lashing tail.

He is so over-stimulated it takes only a few moments of this before he is coming, a frantic yowl rising from his throat as lightning flashes along his spine and curls through his veins, his orgasm brutal and fast, an explosion of sudden, sharp joy as the tension within him snaps and a glorious, sated peace settles on him.

Loki inhales deeply, feeling a rush of possessive pleasure at his own scent so thoroughly spread over Thor’s skin. He is aware of the wet slide of his own seed covering Thor’s belly and stiff cock, and feels a strange sense of accomplishment at the thought of Thor marked as his own. He is not so pleased with the traces of Thor he can smell on himself, and he rolls away from Thor until he has the space to lick at himself, intent on washing away the faint oils from Thor’s fingertips smeared across his body.

“Loki,” Thor says urgently, reaching out for him, “Loki, please -”

But Loki is not terribly interested in Thor anymore; he is done with petting for the time being and feeling sated and sleepy. He yawns hugely and stretches, arching his back and tail, and then curls into a ball at the bottom of the bed, eyes already falling shut.

“Loki?” Thor says again, and he sounds rather unhappy. “Loki, you cannot be going to sleep! What about me -”

But Loki merely flicks his ear at Thor’s whinging and slips effortlessly into sleep.

When he wakes, hours later, for a moment he is utterly disorientated and truly uncomfortable, but as he unfurls from his contorted position at the bottom of the bed, he remembers how and why he came to be there. A quick glance in the mirror confirms what he can already feel: he is himself again, entirely lacking in cat ears, tail, senses and strange side-effects.

Thor is nowhere to be seen.

Another man might feel some guilt at responding so enthusiastically to Thor, only to immediately fall asleep once his own pleasure was taken, Loki assumes, but he sees no fault in his own behaviour. It is entirely Thor’s fault for accosting him in his altered shape; Thor’s frustration is the result of his own impertinence and no concern of Loki’s.

Still, he thinks as he hunts for his clothes, it might be a good idea to do something solely for Thor’s enjoyment before he tries his hand at transforming again. He means to continue practising until he has mastered the trick of shapeshifting, and after that intriguing experience, he thinks he will add the cat-eared form to his repertoire alongside an actual cat shape…so long as Thor is on hand to help him change back.

“Have you seen my brother?” he asks a passing servant as he leaves his room, properly attired and groomed as if nothing unusual has happened.

“The Prince has gone hunting with Tyr’s hounds,” the servant replies. “He said he was well tired of the whims of palace cats and wanted some loyal company.”

Loki laughs and waves the confused servant away. Ah, well. His brother has always been more of a dog person, anyway.

 


End file.
